


At home with the Dragon

by Imperial_Dragon



Series: Kin and Kind [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Eldritch Abominations, Fun with tropes - Slavery, Global Warming, Happy slaves, Id Fic, M/M, Magitech, Master/Slave, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Non-Sexual Slavery, Pangea, Planetary Romance, Post post apocalypse, Post-Apocalypse, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Slow Build, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-03-13 15:29:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18943777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imperial_Dragon/pseuds/Imperial_Dragon
Summary: Ever since Izaz was chosen to become a chattel slave, when he was five, he has worked hard to become the best slave possible. Now he and his friends were about to graduate from the Dragon School for Chosen Chattel Slaves in Xilactlatla and, now that the service he had prepared for all his life was about to begin, he knew he had to excel. It is just that his service is nothing like he expected.“What are the duties of the kin?” Teacher asked.“The kin protect the kind from the weird,” the class replied.“What are the duties of the kind?”“The kind serve the kin, at their pleasure.”“Who are the chosen?”“The gift of the kind, chosen to serve.”“Who chooses the gift?”“The friends and family who give their best to the kin.”“Child of the kind, are you ready to give yourself to the kin?”“Yes, I am.”





	1. Finishing School: The interview

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my betas [maqcy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maqcy) and [Szcay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Szcay). You have helped me so much!

Izaz sat in the corridor outside the classroom where he would have his first selection interview. He looked away from the door; behind it Lochie was already well into his interview. Izaz was next and Pogs, Sholti and Talto would follow. 

The interviews were early this semester, before the official graduation, which hadn’t left much time for preparation. And this was his first chance to be selected for service with the kin - the service Izaz had been preparing for all his life and no matter how hard he tried to calm himself his heart thudded and dizziness threatened as his breath caught in his throat.

“Izaz,” Pogs whispered. “Can you breathe with me?”

He nodded counted breaths: in and hold and out; deep and gentle, slow and soft. He wasn’t sitting up properly so adjusted his pelvis and straightened his spine until he was sitting as decorously as he would in a deportment class. Sholti and Talto joined in so all four were breathing as one. These were the same breathing exercises they had all been taught when they first arrived at the slave chattel school in Xilactlatla three years ago, when they were all fifteen. Now that he was graduating at eighteen, the breathing exercise were ingrained and still worked.

But the thoughts still rattled through his brain: if he was selected now the other prospective owners would not have the chance to see him, which might mean being missed by some important kin. True, the School for Chosen Chattel Slaves in Xilactlatla was one of the premier schools on Earth, so surely anyone he was selected to serve would be worthy of his service, but this selection felt rushed. It wasn’t the well-considered and decorous process he had expected and he felt uneasy.

As the slow breathing calmed him, Izaz gradually let the anxiety go. The interview would not be too horrible: he had seen two older chattels around the school in the last few days observing the classes in their official secretarial duties, and also in deportment and martial arts. He could do the work, he had no doubts about that (or not many), but this process meant the beginning of the end of his school life.

Directly across the corridor from Izaz were notices pinned to the board advertising the activities available: choirs, cultural dance rehearsals, modelling for life drawing, poetry readings. It gave him a strange twinge of nostalgia even before he had left. He had been here for three years, learning everything he could in order to be the best chattel possible. He had been dedicated to this service from birth; his mother had said that she knew from the first moment she held him that he would be chosen to be chattel, and at his first choosing at age five her premonition came true and for ten years he’d worked hard to be ready for the chattel school. Now he had to prove that he was worthy of the choice that had dictated his whole life.

The door opened and Lochie stepped out. He looked strained but nodded and smiled before leaving. Izaz was uneasily aware that Lochie had topped the last exams, although over their time at the school he and Izaz had alternated first and second in class. But they were all competing for the best masters as secretaries, librarians and archivists and, no matter their friendship, he needed to do his best in the interview. After all, they would all soon be separated by their duties to their new masters.

“Next,” someone called from the room.

Izaz stepped in, pulling the door to behind him. Seated in the room were two men dressed in the chattel slave uniform: white trousers, shirt and sleeveless vest, but with the black sashes of the Dragon Affinity. Their clothes were elegantly tailored, not the generic school fit, darned and mended by inexpert student hands, and Izaz felt shabby in comparison. But soon he would be as well dressed as these men, once he was in service.

The two men were seated either side of a table piled with thick files, a pair of spectacles on top.

Izaz bowed with what he hoped was the correct depth of respect.

“Izazarion.” The older of the two men, pale skinned with black hair just starting to grey, indicated a chair set opposite to theirs. “Please be seated.”

“Thank you, sir.” Izaz sat, careful to be as graceful as possible while not drawing attention to himself, as he had been taught.

“Are you called Izaz?” The other man was somewhat younger, with lightly freckled skin and sandy hair.

“Yes, sir.” Relax your hands and breathe the tension out, he thought.

“Your record is exceptional,” the older man said. “I expect you’ve looked at it; all of the secretarial slaves manage to do so.” He smiled benignly as though that was a thing to encourage. “You have been trained for personal service and will serve in the presence of the kin. Do you have any concerns about that? I ask because, now that personal service is immanent, it tends to worry the candidates, and I may be able to ease your concerns.”

Worries? Many. He might not be good enough to cut it as a secretary, the household of slaves he worked with might not be nice, the kin were dangerous even for well trained chattel - these were the usual sort of concerns that anybody might have. But his concerns were more immediate: the presence of the kin chilled his skin and clawed at the back of his head. Well, that had happened the four times he had been in the same room as the kin. No one talked about this and it had never been mentioned in class so it scared Izaz that there was something wrong with him.

It might be close to having magic.

Honesty had been drummed in to them all, with precept, example and a hard leather strap. He did not want to tell these men about his affliction but he should not start out with a lie.

“I do feel cold when in the presence of the kin.” His voice did not shake as he thought it might with such a damaging admission.

The older man nodded. “This is a known reaction. Do you get over the feeling in a few moments?”

“Yes, sir. There were gorgons in the Imperial Science Library when we visited and the - the sensations died away quickly.” A quick summation of the long minutes Izaz had spent with his class waiting respectfully for the gorgon kin to leave so they could continue their tour, carefully peeking up at the kin while the turmoil inside him quietened,

The older man nodded. “I have this sense of the kin too. It’s not common but there is no stigma attached to it. Don’t let it worry you.”

“It sounds like a good idea to me,” the younger man said. “Let’s you know if your master is arriving and gives you time to get ready.”

“Which is unnecessary if you are well organised.” The older man put on the glasses and picked up the top file. “I see you were chosen by High Haven, with excellent breeding and a long pedigree.”

“We don’t see many chosen from High Haven,” said the younger.

“But the High Haven demesne does produce blood stock to a very high standard.” His older colleague tapped the file thoughtfully. “Guaranteed well favoured and docile. But we need to be sure, so please strip, Izaz.”

Sure of what? To be sure that he was pretty and obedient? All the students had been told to obey the selectors so they were within their rights to demand this, and a truly docile chattel slave would obey without question. So Izaz rose and began to undress. The teachers had suggested that the students practise this privately so Izaz had done so in his cubical, but here he blushed; most chattel students did not strip for older men privately in a classroom (although who knew what the intimate services chattels did as part of their training).

At any rate, this suggested that Izaz was not going to be relegated to the Imperial Service rather than serve an individual kin master. Izaz reminded himself of that as he removed his clothes, folded them and placed them on the chair. He turned around at the gesture of the older interviewer. He knew he looked good; all the hundreds of years of breeding had to have an effect along with the endless physical training. He wasn’t as attractive as an intimate services slave, but Izaz was glad to see only mild interest in his audience.

“Thank you, Izaz,’ said the younger man. “Lovely, and just what we expected. Now, could you show us a profound obeisance.”

Izaz composed himself with a breath before kneeling a bending forward to touch his lips to the floor, stretching out with his hands then bringing them to rest under his forehead, as he would for his master. He forced his muscles to relax as relief and anxiety churned in his gut. On the one hand this obeisance suggested he would be in close service to his master, which was what he wanted; on the other hand he would be in close contact with the kin, which was frankly terrifying. Maybe he would serve a dragon. Fuck. Fuckitty fuck fuck. Surely the chattels in the room would hear his heart pounding away with - excitement, yes, excitement, not terror.

“Thank you, Izaz, That was just lovely. Stand up now and get dressed.” The older man smiled kindly at Izaz while the sandy haired younger man looked through his file.

Izaz rose and quickly dressed, glad to conceal his flushed body.

“Huh.” The file had been opened and the young man points out something to his older colleague.

He pushes his glasses up. “Oh. That will be all right. It’s well in the past - no one need worry.”

Izaz was dressed now, and frantically tried to remember what was in his file at that point while trying to keep a calm expression. The two interviewers smiled, and the younger man shrugged.

“Thank you, Izaz. You have done very well. Off you go now.”

Izaz bowed and left the room, unsure of the impression he had made. Sholti was poised to go in, while the other two continued the breathing exercise. Izaz tried to smile but was sure it looked more like a grimace. 

Down the corridor Lochie was waiting for him, leaning against the wall in a way that would have drawn the wrath of their deportment teacher. They reached out at the same time and clutched each other tightly. They’d had each other’s backs for the whole time they had been at school and, even if they were ultimately going to be separated, they would do their best to support each other until then. They had already arranged that Sholti, Talto and Pogs would leave together so no one had to be alone.

“They’ve already made up their minds,” Izaz said, realising that was true as he said it. “That was just a last check on us.”

“Yeah.” Lochie was solid and warm in his arms. “Did you see the files they had on us? They were definitely thicker than the ones we managed to see. They knew all about us.”

Izaz pulled back and looked seriously at Lochie. “Did they make you take your clothes off?”

“Yuck, yes. And asked about anything that worried me.”

“Me too. I told them about my feelings around the kin.” For the first time Izaz considered that he had not told a teacher about his reaction to the kin but the interviewers had not seemed surprised. Had there been something in his file? Had someone told the teachers?

“I said I wasn’t sure about moving to a household and being different.” He looked away. “Being asexual.”

Izaz had thought that Lochie was over feeling inferior about his asexuality. That was the problem with being bred blood but brought up in a common slave community. Since there was less influence from the breeding scheme in the general population, anyone with a more unusual phenotype, such as asexuality or even same sex attraction, tended to become isolated and might even feel inferior.

“And what did they say?”

“That I needn’t worry and that sex wasn’t the most important thing in life.”

“There you go. What have we been telling you for three years? Let’s get back to the common room.”

It was likely that this was their last walk down the corridors of this wing, and Izaz tried to impress the place in his memory: the smell of clean but sweaty young men and women, the panels battered by years of adolescent chosen kind, the wooden floors worn smooth by bare feet and relentless polishing, even the rush of a first cohort class of fifteen year olds pushing past and trying not to run - all that would soon be left behind. He was surprised at how much he would miss the place, now that the time had finally come. And the people, although he wasn’t going to think about that now.

The senior common room buzzed with conversation as the slaves came back from interviews. Izaz spotted Moki lounging on a sofa in full Intimate Services mode.

“That was a - a portentous interview, Lochie,” Izaz said, pleased with his new word.

“Portentous? Still playing the old game, Izaz?” Moki shuffled over slightly so Izaz could sit beside him.

Izaz sank down, carefully avoiding touching him. Moki’s presence always filled him with an anticipation that could never be fulfilled. His brown skin would be warm, his full lips soft and black hair thick and wiry. Izaz didn’t want the arousal that flushed his body whenever he saw Moki to drain away by touching him and activating the protective magic of the dragon’s wing chill the desire from his body.

“Yeah, I still play the game in my head.” They’d invented the game ‘Talk like a dictionary’ but stopped scoring it ages ago. “I mean portentous as in ominous. Good omens, I hope. Or not - there are five of us secretaries to select from, and you are top of the list, Lochie. I still might not be selected for anyone!”

Lochie flopped into an easy chair opposite the sofa. “Don’t be silly. There is no way you’d be left for the Imperial Service. I’m sure these chattels are selecting for a senior lord - maybe a great dragon master - but they won’t be the only one. If whoever this is doesn’t pick you the next one will - maybe even the Dragon Lord himself!”

“I wouldn’t think so,” Izaz said quietly. “He hasn’t had any slaves other than bed boys for years. Moki’s likely to end up in his service, though.”

“Oh, yeah.” Moki sprawled out even more, grinning lewdly. “My interview was all singing, all dancing, I can tell you, with this short blond guy. And they were interviewing cooks and armourers and gardeners and all, so it looks like a major household is scouting for staff. Maybe we will serve together after all.”

“There’s almost a hundred 6th cohort students at this school, let alone those at all the other schools on Earth,” Lochie said. “That’s a lot of chosen boys and girls to select from.”

“This selection is different though,” Moki said. “It’s always been after the official graduation - we’ve barely even got started on learning interview techniques. No, this is not the normal selection. Who knows what will happen?”

There was no use in ruminating about the future when you had no control over it. That’s what their teachers said, and Izaz agreed.

“We should be able to write letters and stay in contact,” he said hopefully, before remembering that they would soon have to write their last letter home. That was a separation he could not avoid.

The door to the lounge opened. Seth, another of the Intimate Services boys from our house, peered in.

“Orders from the headmistress, guys and gals. Once you’ve finished your interviews you are to go to your usual classes and assignments, but the last session before dinner will be extra Practical Philosophy.”

Moki shuddered theatrically. 

“Give over, Moki,” Lochie said, “Everyone knows you hate Practical Philosophy.”

Izaz stood. “Come on, we’ve all got martial arts now. Get up, Moki.”

Moki made no move to get up but held out his hand. Lochie frowned, he had no patience with Moki’s adoption of pleasure slave airs but Izaz could see the tension Moki was trying to smother with his games. He reached out for Moki’s hand and almost winced as the gentle arousal he felt instantly dropped. Moki just shook his head sadly.

“Come on, let’s kick ass together,” Izaz said. “Then we can brave Teacher Olf for the very last time. It might be our last class together.”


	2. Finishing School: Practical Philosophy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to [maqcy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maqcy) my fabulous beta!

Pipi was late for Practical Philosophy. Izaz knelt on the hard, cold wooden floor with Lochie, Moki, Seth and Hoag the gardener, waiting for her while Teacher Olf sat on his chair in his perfect posture, imperturbable as usual. Teacher taught Deportment as well as Practical Philosophy, and demanded the highest standards from his students.

Now that he was still, Izaz could feel the tension from the day trembling under his skin even after the martial arts class. He couldn’t take his mind off the ache in his knees. It merged with his need to move and he gave way to it, shifting slightly to ease his knees in the prescribed imperceptible manner.

But his move was not imperceptible enough.

“Be still, Izaz,” Teacher ordered.

Izaz bowed his forehead to his hands, raised in contrition. Teacher Olf never let his students get away with anything less than perfect deportment. It was the key to excellent service, he said, and he demanded nothing less than perfection. But he also taught his students all the techniques to let them deliver that service. Right now Izaz needed to calm the fidgets out of his knees and the breathing meditation was always the easiest, and Teacher had drilled his students endlessly. Izaz let his breath flow in and out, expanding his awareness through his body, and adjusting his posture so his head was poised on his shoulders, his hands relaxed at his sides and his hips directly above his knees. Sure, his knees ached a little, but that was a sensation like any other.

Now the trick was to keep that feeling and expand his awareness to the room, to his friends kneeling with him in this moment - but the door opened and the scuff of footsteps disturbed him as Pipi knelt in front of her chair and bowed her head.

“Thank you for gracing us with your presence, Pipi,” Teacher said.

He must be really pissed off to allow himself that sarcastic remark.

“Forgive me, Teacher. We made pies for the selectors and I had to wait for them to finish baking.” Pipi maintained her position but sounded sullen.

“Really. Go on, be seated.”

Everyone, except Pipi, rose from their knees to sit on the chairs. Pipi would kneel for just as long as the others had. Teacher might be strict but he was always scrupulously fair.

“And sit easy,” Teacher added. “If you haven’t learnt the right posture for sitting by now, you won’t do so in the next hour.”

Izaz gratefully rose from his knees to sit in the chair, back straight because this could be a long class and slouching would just lead to a sore back. He discretely rubbed his knees, which didn’t really hurt that much.

“Yesterday we discussed personal autonomy, or the lack of it as chattels,” Teacher began.

Moki slumped dramatically.

“Yes, Moki?”

“Are we going to discuss sexual consent again?” Moki asked. With an unpleasant, sullen pout on his lip, he sounded belligerent and quite unlike the usual Moki Izaz joked with and teased. His hair, kept as long as possible, brushed his hunched shoulders.

“Again? We have not discussed sexual consent in this class for months.” Teacher looked directly at Moki and raised his brows. ‘Although you seemed unhappy with the discussion in the Intimate Services class, despite claiming that you were fine with being prepared for technical rape. So are you worried by your future role or not?”

“Not by my future service.” Moki sounded very definite. “I’m not upset by the sex or lack of choice, I just don’t like talking about it as rape. I may not be able to truly consent, but I’d like to be able to look forward to my future job without everyone feeling sorry for me. Or me feeling sorry for myself.”

Izaz had never heard this before from Moki. He had always said he wanted to get fucked, grow his hair, work as a bed boy to the kin, then retire to star in the family brothel in Xilactlatla, before getting a cultural facial tattoo and moving into management. That plan was all Moki had talked about; it had no room for being squeamish about choice. Sometimes Izaz thought Moki’s practicality was admirable but now it seemed counterproductive.

“This is the first time you have admitted any doubt whatsoever in your vocation, at least here in class,” Teacher said. “But people will remind you that your consent cannot be valid, and tell you that you’ve been raped, and you need to be ready for it. You will need to have your own story ready, to tell others and yourself.”

Moki scowled. Given Moki’s hard head, it was perhaps not surprising that it had taken until he was to be assigned to a kin master to realise that he was not immune to the usual issues of a bed slave. But Teacher Olf, even now handsome and elegant, had served Lord Alexian the Dragon Lord as a bed boy, and even Moki had to acknowledge his experience with respect.

“But that isn’t what I wanted to bring up today. What have your learnt here at school that will help you when things go badly? When choices are made for you that you don’t agree with? When it is more like rape than you expected?” Olf looked at all of us. “Because this may happen, eventually. What will you do then?”

It was not unknown for the kin to require the sexual use of any of their chattel slaves, not just the Intimate Services bed chattels who had been trained for this service, but certainly I had never been forced to confront this issue. My own imagination ran out before the sexual event and tended towards hazy images of kissing and caressing with someone who looked more like Moki than any kin, and whatever happened had no relation to rape whatsoever.

“Or let’s say that you have been selected for a young dragon, a lord with a demesne in the wilderness with a half built manor house and outdoor long drops you dug yourself.” Izaz cringed. Olf knew where to prod for the most effect. “Prissy little city boys and girls like yourselves out in the never-never, when you expected to serve in a city or palace with all the modern comforts and entertainments, serving an ancient master of weird power. Imagine the disappointment. What will you do?”

Even now Izaz found his mind skittering away from even the idea. From the moment of his choosing at five years old he had expected to serve important dragon kin, while other chosen children would be selected to serve lesser kin. He deserved the best - anything less was a betrayal of the gift of his life. Yet he knew this was total bullshit. He was not better than any other chosen slave, so he shouldn’t expect anything better. He would endure that service, even if endurance was not enthusiastic service -

“I would talk to the other kind,” Hoag said.

Hoag had arrived two semesters ago. He had been trained as a gardener at another school specialising in Household Services and sent to the Xilac school for his final year for personal training, with the expectation that he would care for courtyards and flower beds rather than orchards and vegetable fields.

“I didn’t want to come here,” Hoag said. His eyes flicked away and back but he kept his chin up - Teacher was insistent on keeping eye contact in class. “I wanted to work in an orchard really, but someone decided that they needed personal gardeners so I was sent here for training. I was so unhappy and homesick, do you remember? But you were all kind to me. Izaz showed me the books on plants in the library, Seth helped me catch up with the required reading, Teacher gave me extra deportment tutoring, and when I cried everyone hugged me. I adjusted. If I was sent somewhere I didn’t want to be, I’d seek the support of the other household chattels, and I reckon I’d be all right, just like here.”

“Well done, Hoag!” Teacher smiled at him with rare approval. “You have learnt one of our greatest lessons - to rely on each other. To support each other through good times and bad. Not all chattels are kind, it is true, but we have learnt that we must be here for each other.”

Izaz stared at Hoag, amazed that his clumsy attempt at befriending the new boy had been so effective. He remembered Hoag’s arrival, sullen and teary, but since then he had blossomed into a quiet and cheerful boy, and the best strawberry gardener in the school. He had enjoyed surreptitiously scoffing the fruit with Hoag.

“But what if we are on our own in a household?” Moki asked. “It must happen sometimes.”

“Not often.” Teacher pursed his lips. “That would be a - special interest. But don’t worry, none of you are going anywhere near a frontier demesne. You are safe from the wild.”

Izaz was glad to hear that he was not to be sent away to the back of beyond, but shivered at the mention of Special Interests. Everyone had heard about them and that they took bad slaves away, but nothing more. There had been a fight in the second semester and one of the boys left. Neither Izaz nor any of his cohort found out what happened but the rumour was that Special Interests took him. That boy was never seen again at the school.

“There is no time to go into Special Interests now, but they are your friends - believe me.” Teacher looked around the circle of chairs at his students, as if to remember them. “You will be excellent slaves. I’ve taught you all I could and now you are to make your own way amongst the kin and their slaves. You will do well - I know it. Let’s end your time with me with the catechism to remind us of the meaning of the service you have been learning. However much we seek our own personal meaning in serving the kin we must remember the ancient bargain between kin and kind and our place in it.”

They knelt again. Pipi grimaced; she had just stopped rubbing her knees.

“What are the duties of the kin?” Teacher asked.

“The kin protect the kind from the weird,” the class replied.

“What are the duties of the kind?”

“The kind serve the kin, at their pleasure.”

“Who are the chosen?”

“The gift of the kind, chosen to serve.”

“Who chooses the gift?”

“The friends and family give their best to the kin to honour them.”

“Child of the kind, are you ready to give yourself to the kin?”

“Yes, I am.”

Izaz’s mum said the moment the midwife put Izaz in her arms she knew he would be chosen. Such a beautiful child, she always said, wavering between pride and sadness.

“No final decisions have been made,” Teacher said in the little silence that followed the recitation. “But I would advise you all to write your last letter home tonight and pack your bag. Be ready to hear news of selections tomorrow.”

They all stood and bowed. Once Teacher had left the room Izaz collapsed onto his chair.

“Fuck,” Moki said.

Lochie looked dazed. “I thought we had a few weeks left - a little more time for us to spend together, before we are split up.”

Or, as Teacher might say, before they embarked on the exciting adventure that is service to the kin. Hoag, leaving with Pipi and Seth, had the right attitude of acceptance and Seth was calm enough to be a phoenix meditation aid but Izaz had doubts about the rest. Moki really wanted to get on with his business plans; Pipi didn’t seem entirely happy as a cook; Lochie, for all his real dedication to his secretarial profession, still remained the fragile boy who had trailed around after Izaz for the first six months at the school; and Izaz himself didn’t know what he wanted apart from the dream of a dragon, and that was nothing to build a life on. Service to the kin: that was what he needed to work, and explore the new life opening up for him.

“We have less time to worry,” Izaz said. “At least we can write to each other once our first year is up.”

Lochie did not look comforted but he drew in a deep breath and moved on. “Have you written your letter home, Izaz?”

High Haven, never visited by the kin and isolated in a deep valley of the Nurishat Mountains, held a deep fascination for Lochie. He was convinced that living in the city would be like being free, but without the danger. Izaz had not managed to convince him that High Haven was merely deeply respectable and the most exciting event of the year was the cheese festival and competition, so Lochie was happy to consider all the inhabitants bold and brave. He seemed to think Izaz’s letters were missives from a mystical past despite their mundane contents, but then Lochie had some romantic notions.

“I’m writing tonight,” Izaz said. He’d write in the library, where his duties were about to cease. “What about you, Lochie?”

“I’ve written a few lines.” Lochie shrugged dismissively. He liked to claim that being brought up in an orphanage meant the separation from home meant less to him. “Moki?”

“Done it,” Moki said cheerfully. “If I get to Xilac and see the family again that’s a bonus. There’s only so much you can say anyway; they’ll worry no matter what. We’ve done all we can for our families; it is time for us to move on.”

Moki smiled at Izaz as they left the classroom. He was right. The slaves had to move on. Now Izaz had to write a convincing final letter to the family to let them know he had embraced his new life as a chattel of the kin, and maybe he’d even convince himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _demesne_ In the workd of Kin & Kind, the demesne is land owned personally by a lord or lady, and includes all the buildings, crops, animals and kind (people) living on the land. (Historically, the demesne (/dɪˈmeɪn/ di-MAYN) was all the land which was retained by a lord of the manor for his own use and occupation or support, under his own management.) Demesne is a variant of domaine.

**Author's Note:**

> All kudos, comments and criticisms welcome.


End file.
